The Story Peddler

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  “Darling,” the queen said, “I simply insist Braith meet with the Haribian prince tomorrow afternoon.” She smoothed her long pale braid and took a sip of wine. “How much longer can I be expected to put him off?” She glared at Braith. “He is a prince, after all.”

  The king set down his goblet with a clang. “A prince, but a Haribian prince. You really want your daughter marrying one of them, Frenhin? Imagine the grandchildren.”

  The princess winced and cast an apologetic look toward the handful of dark-skinned Haribian servants who stood alongside the pale Tirians and the caramel-skinned Meridioni.

  She pursed her lips in silence a moment, then cleared her throat. “I would be pleased to meet our Haribian guest, Mother. I understand Prince Huku has been quite gracious during his stay in Urian.”

  The queen’s pointed chin lifted. “I don’t want you to just meet him, Braith darling. I want you to marry him.”

  Father’s goblet slammed to the table again.

  But Braith put a soothing hand on the king’s arm. “Perhaps Prince Huku and I might meet to discuss the issues currently vexing our Haribian subjects.” She turned to the queen. “I fear our policy of imperialism has made us unpopular, and Prince Huku would not take me as his wife, even if I did agree to your attempts to marry me off to our guests.”

  Queen Frenhin’s face colored. Her head looked ready to pop off her neck.

  But Braith continued calmly. “In any case, perhaps a meeting with the prince would help ease Haribian relations. I can listen to the problems of his people. Help him where I’m able.”

  “My people, Braith.” The king’s eyes filled with warning. “Prince Huku’s people are my people now.”

  Braith smiled weakly. “Yes, of course. I’ll have to brush up on my Haribian, of course. The prince doesn’t speak much Tirian, does he?”

  The king snorted. “Hardly a word.”

  “Good. That will give me a chance to practice my Haribian. It has been too long since I’ve had reason to exercise it.” Braith’s eyes lifted a moment, only to find Dray Bo-Anffir smirking at her from across the table.

  Braith’s gaze dropped. That smirk—somehow boyish, despite the gray showing at Dray’s temples—had seduced more ladies of King Gareth’s court than Braith cared to count.

  Naith Bo-Offriad sniffed. “The Haribians still refuse to worship the Tirian goddesses. Have a pantheon of their own, apparently. That alone would deter me from marrying any daughter of mine into that heathen country.” He smiled. “Were I allowed to marry and father children myself, that is.”

  Still, the queen wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. “I don’t care about the grandchildren or who they worship; Braith would be the uncontested queen of the Haribian province. We could leverage her position for the Bellithwyn conquest we’ve always talked about.”

  Braith took a long sip of wine. Would talk of expanding the empire never die?

  The queen’s voice was firm as she turned to the king and pressed the issue further. “With Haribi standing between us and Bellithwyn, there is no way to mount an offensive against the countries there without first establishing strategic positioning in Haribi.”

  Braith set down her wineglass. “Mother, whether I’m married to Prince Huku or not, launching a Bellithwyn offensive from Haribi would be suicide. Prince Huku and his line will always have the loyalty of the people, whatever banner flies above the Haribian plains. Do you honestly think dispatching our soldiers through their vast continent would result in anything less than utter annihilation? And that before we could even sight the shores of Bellithwyn on the other side.”

  The king huffed. “We beat the Haribians once, you know. Conquered them fair on their own soil.”

  “Indeed.” Braith smiled thinly. “Battles fought within sight of the Tirian shores. Battles that conquered their important coastal cities. So, yes, a fair conquering by the technical definition.

  “But it was not a war waged in the Haribian wildlands,” she went on. “The tribes there may be primitive to our minds, but they are warriors with mettle to match any of our knights. And they will fight for their prince if we presume to march through their territory on our way to expanding ours. It would be the end of the guardsmen’s glory and the destruction of the king’s empire.”

  After a moment of silence, Dray chimed in. “The princess speaks wisdom, Your Majesty.” His unsettling gaze turned back toward Braith. “I don’t suppose she learned military tactics at her dancing lessons.”

  Braith laughed shortly. “No, indeed, Sir Dray. Despite what critics would suggest, I was not appointed to our king’s council to add feminine charm to the proceedings.”

  A ripple of polite laughter ran through the courtiers at the table.

  Dray leaned toward her. “And yet you provide that too.”

  Braith lowered her gaze to the blood-colored liquid in her goblet.

  “Very good.” The king drained his wine, then signaled for Gwin to bring him more. “Braith will meet with Prince Huku for the reasons she’s agreed to, and only those reasons. Is that clear, Queen Frenhin?”

  The queen visibly bristled under the public command. But she fixed her features into a mask of calm. “Of course, Majesty.”

  “Good. Now, we will enjoy our supper. If that were possible.” The king poked at a lump of purple mash on his plate. “What is this muck? Ginia, are you trying to poison me?”

  Ginia, the palace cook, stepped from the line of servants, her hands trembling. “No, Majesty. You know our Tirian crops have not been good this year. We’ve had to be . . . creative in the kitchens. Those are pureed plum wattas from Haribi. And I . . .” She glanced at Braith and swallowed hard. “I thought our guest, Prince Huku, might like them.”

  “I’ll thank you to serve me good Tirian food from now on, Ginia, or perhaps you’ll find yourself on your own butcher block.”

  Ginia’s voice shriveled to a squeak. “Yes, Your Majesty.” She scuttled back into line with the others.

  “Poison,” the king muttered, squishing his fork into the purple puree. “Poison, poison, poison.” A storm shadowed his face, and he looked like he might begin shouting at the staff any second.

  Braith put a hand on his arm. “Majesty, Ginia wishes to please you. All your servants do. But everyone in Tir is feeling the effects of the blight on the land this year. I don’t see that we should be any different. If the people suffer, so should we. And they have not the opportunity to sample fine foods imported from Haribi and the other corners of your vast empire.”

  It wasn’t clear if the king had even heard her.

  “Majesty?”

  Just then the doors to the dining hall flew open. Baedden the bodyguard stiffened at the king’s shoulder, but his tension eased when he registered the intruders. Guardsmen knights—five of them, led by General Cydinol, commander of all king’s guard soldiers stationed in the eastern half of Tir.

  Cydinol bowed. “Permission to speak, Your Majesty.”

  The king frowned. “Eh?”

  The general glanced at one of the knights, who shrugged. Apparently taking the king’s response as authorization, Cydinol continued. “It seems there was a severe offense in Afon nearly a week ago.” He lowered his voice. “Forbidden story strands, Your Majesty.”

  The fog around the king evaporated and he snapped back to himself. “Story strands on the Eastern Peninsula? Again?” He scowled. “Is it the same peddler—the unregistered girl?”

  “We believe so, Your Majesty.”

  The king crashed his fist onto the table. Goblets and plates rattled, and several diners jumped. “Nearly a week! Why have I not heard of it until now?”

  Cydinol held his head high, but he visibly steeled himself. “Captain Wyren—he’s commander of the guard in the trans-river cities, my king—it seems he wanted to capture the offending party before notifying you of the offense. His men tracked her from Afon to Pembrone. Indeed, they found her residence. But she was gone when they arrived. Wyren has di
spatched several units to checkpoints around the Peninsula. He says he’ll be sending word frequently by his fastest birds. He realizes his error now, Your Majesty. As soon as we received the message, I came here directly. I apologize for interrupting your meal.”

  The king gripped his goblet until his knuckles whitened. “Explain the nature of these forbidden stories, Cydinol.”

  The whole of the king’s guard company before the royal table paled and stood in silence.

  Queen Frenhin scoffed, her dark eyes glowing with indignation. “Your king has asked you a question, General. Answer at once!”

  The general cleared his throat. “They were most accusatory, sire. The offenses the peddler laid out against you were so treasonous, I daren’t repeat them. And that’s not all. There’s something else I think you should know, Majesty.”

  “Then tell me quickly.”

  “The Pembroni house the guard tracked the peddler to—it appears to be the family home of Glain Ma-Yestin.”

  “Yestin?” The king scratched his beard over and over. “Yestin.” His eyes grew wide. “Will some ghosts never leave us?”

  A sliver of red appeared along one of the king’s cheeks.

  “Father!” Braith grabbed her napkin and blotted the blood. “You’re unwell. Let me accompany you to your room at once. Please.”

  Braith rose and the entire company, excepting the king and queen, rose after her.

  The king finally followed suit, but trouble stirred his features. “Yes. I shall retire now.”

  Braith took the king by the elbow and they moved past the knights.

  Just as they quitted the room, the king turned back to his general. “Cydinol?”

  “Yes, Majesty?”

  “Tell your men to find this girl. Tell them to search for her as if their lives depended upon it. Because, indeed, they do.”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “And put the word out to the peasants. Anyone who captures or leads to the capture of this story peddler will be rewarded. Say, one hundred gold pieces. That ought to inspire some loyalty from the starving provincials.”

  “Indeed, Majesty.”

  Braith’s eyes widened. One hundred gold crowns? A large sum for a peasant. Huge, actually.

  But the princess stayed silent and led the king to the stairway outside the dining hall doors.

  The king paused at the bottom of the stairs and called back over his shoulder. “And Cyd? Bring me Captain Wyren’s head in a basket.”

  Chapter 15

  Braith

  Braith leaned against the closed door to her father’s private chambers. She’d seen him in, gotten him comfortable, then escaped to the hallway where the air didn’t threaten to smother her.

  She tried to put the captain’s fate out of her mind.

  A hundred gold pieces.

  Truly, a king’s ransom. And for a peasant girl.

  It defied reason. The peninsular peasants would be clawing each other’s eyes out trying to find the story peddler. An entire family could live for years on one hundred gold pieces.

  Braith pushed herself off the door and began a distracted trek to her own chambers.

  Clearly, the king would see the girl silenced at any cost.

  But why? He was proud, true. But he valued gold even above his pride. A hundred gold crowns because of some story strands. Unbelievable . . .

  “Princess.”

  “Oh!” The princess clutched her chest. “Sir Dray. You startled me.”

  Dray slipped from the shadows of the hallway. His chiseled features caught the flickering torchlight. “Apologies, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He took her hand and bowed, then lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. “I have a confession.”

  The stays of Braith’s corset suddenly felt too tight. “Oh?”

  “I was waiting for you. Hoping to catch you on your way back to your chambers.”

  Braith glanced at her father’s chief advisor, then resumed her stroll down the hallway. “It disturbs me somewhat that you know where my private chambers are, Your Grace.”

  “I’m chief advisor to the king. I know many private things about many important people. It’s my duty to know such things, do you not agree?”

  “Even about the king’s daughter?” Braith stopped walking and turned to look the politician squarely in the eyes.

  It didn’t seem to unnerve him. “Especially the king’s daughter.” He smiled. “Might we dispense with formality at last? I’ve known you since you were a child, but you’re no longer a little girl, are you? Call me Dray.”

  “What would the king and queen think of such familiarity, I wonder?”

  He took a step closer. “I should think they’d be pleased to see their daughter become more familiar with the king’s closest advisor. May I call you Braith?”

  Braith clasped her trembling hands behind her back. “As you wish.” She walked again—slowly, with measured paces.

  “Don’t you think we ought to become better acquainted?” Dray pressed.

  “I’ve known you all my twenty-three years and we see each other daily. Call me Braith, if you must, but are we not well enough acquainted already?” Her voice rattled a little.

  She did not want to be alone with this man.

  Dray stopped walking and stepped in front of Braith. “I thought I knew you quite well. And then, as we sit around the king’s table enjoying supper, Your Highness delivers the best-reasoned speech I’ve heard in an age, effectively deterring her father from what could be a regime-ending military campaign. And I find I don’t know Braith at all.” He moved in closer. “Perhaps I’ve too long thought of my lady as a child.”

  Braith retreated a step.

  “Perhaps I’ve missed the extraordinary woman Braith has become, right before my eyes.” Dray advanced.

  Braith scooted away so quickly her back thumped into the stone wall behind her. “Dray, you wanted to speak plainly, so we shall. I understand my father trusts you with his life. But I fear you overstep your bounds. You’re making me very uneasy. You do not wish to agitate the princess, do you?”

  Dray placed his hands on the stone wall behind Braith, trapping her between his arms. The scent of brisk-leaf hovered on his breath, and the musky smell of whatever he used when he groomed his cropped beard filled Braith’s consciousness as he leaned in. “Maybe I do wish to agitate the princess.” His mouth inched closer. “Just a little.”

  Before Braith had time to move, he brought his lips to hers. Softly, as though he and she might be lovers. A split-second passed. Then Braith caught her breath and pushed him back.

  “Your . . . Your Grace.” Her voice stumbled. “This is a transgression my father would not overlook.” It came out weakly. Because, truly, would the king object? Perhaps having his daughter marry Sir Dray Bo-Anffir would suit him just fine.

  And Dray knew it.

  He pushed himself away from the wall and gave Braith some room to breathe. “Forgive me, Braith. I couldn’t help it.”

  She lifted her chin. Her voice regained some muster. “Try next time. I’ll disregard this offense but no others. Is that clear?”

  The lines of amusement around Dray’s mouth deepened. “I’d expect nothing less of Your virtuous Highness.”

  Braith glared at him. “Does Lady Feistrys not wait for you in your chambers right now, Your Grace?” The words came out dry as the Haribian desert.

  “Kind of you to call her a lady, Braith.”

  “She is a lady, is she not?” Braith straightened her skirts and resumed her dignified passage down the hall.

  “Yes, she is called a lady,” Dray answered. “But only because she’s been my mistress for so many years, and your father thought he ought to give her a legitimate reason to be at court.” He smiled. “I know you don’t approve.”

  “Must you be so crass?” Braith turned her gaze straight ahead and stared at the gray stone wall at the end of the hallway. “I’ll recognize any lord or lady my father so declares. That is
my duty as princess.”

  “Ah, yes. Your duty. Is that why I unsettle you? Because you are ever duty-, rule-, and honor-bound. And I am not.”

  In spite of herself, Braith stopped and rounded on him. “Some people see value in tradition and honor—and yes, rules, if you want to put it that way. Clearly, you don’t see value in those things.”

  Dray laughed. “I suppose you could say that. Do you know what interests me most at present?” He reached up and touched Braith’s cheek, then unleashed the disarming smile that had undone so many ladies.

  “I do, Sir Dray.” She pulled away from his touch and leveled her gaze at him. “The throne.”

  Dray’s face showed genuine surprise for a moment. Then his smile spread wider. “Clever lady.”

  “Princess Braith!” Cameria’s voice carried down the hall like a ray of sunshine after a storm.

  Dray backed away from the princess with a jerk as Cameria rushed toward them.

  “Cameria,” Braith said, and the relief was clear in her voice.

  “There you are, Your Highness.” Cameria’s dark gaze bounced between Dray and the princess. “I came to escort you back to your room after supper, but they said you’d taken your father to his room. Is the king ill?”

  “Yes, I believe he is ill. Sir Dray was just going back to inquire after him.” She turned to the king’s chief advisor. “Isn’t that right, Sir Dray?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”

  “Thank you for escorting me to my chambers, Your Grace. Good night.”

  Without another word, Braith turned, took Cameria’s arm, and strode to her door. Once inside, Braith nearly collapsed to the floor.

  “Highness!” Cameria ducked under Braith’s arm to support her.

  Braith steadied herself against her rescuer. “I’m fine, Cameria. Shaken, but fine. If only my wobbly knees would believe it.”

  “Did he hurt you, my lady?” Cameria’s eyes blazed. “Tell me if he did. I saw his hands on you.”

  Braith steadied her breath as Cameria helped her onto one of the lounges. “No, he did not hurt me.”